


Lionheart

by wrennette



Series: Trashpile: A Compendium of Unfinished Fics [11]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, minor worldbuilding, some theological talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 14:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11060532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: The Pevensies return from Narnia changed in more ways than one. The Winter Rebellion might be over, but their war is just beginning, with Grindelwald on the march and Tom Riddle at Hogwarts. Complete AU for both.





	Lionheart

The shock of returning to their childish bodies nearly undid the Pevensie siblings. If not for the intervention of the good professor that night as they huddled together, it just might have. But the professor, it seemed, was a friend of Narnia, and moreover, a traveler of many worlds. His wanderings had dropped the scales from his eyes, and so he was able to tell them a little of the magic of their native world. 

Alternately wondrous and horrified, the four once and future monarchs listened closely. They were quite sad to learn that there were no Talking Beasts of any sort, although the professor said that there were some people who understood and could speak to various animals. The news that there were centaurs though relieved them, and for the next few days all they could speak or hear of was magic.

Professor Kirke had a few books of magic he had found in the backs of odd, dusty shops, and it turned out Mrs. Macready had some too. Evidently she had been born to a family of wizards and witches, although she had no magic of her own. Knowing more of the world the Pevensies wished to know of than the professor, Mrs. Macready soon found herself with four shadows and willing helpers. She told them what she remembered of her girlhood as Maeve Ogden, trips to Diagon Alley and their house in Scotland, where her family brewed their world famous Old Ogden’s Firewhisky.

Mrs. Macready had no wand of her own, and had married a man who had no magic, leaving that world behind. Now though, she reached out to her long estranged cousin Aonghas Urquhart, enticing a wild owl in from the forest to deliver her letter and explaining about owl post to the Pevensie children. Aonghas wrote back with a very long letter, which informed them that the tame little owl who delivered it was their own now, and also that his son Elphinstone had a few years back graduated Hogwarts, the magical school, and was working for the Ministry of Magic in London to help protect the city during the Blitz.

Aonghas was full of suggestions in his letter, and arrived that very afternoon with a sharp crack. He was quite the old Highlander, long and lean with a riot of greying red-blonde hair, dressed in a kilt beneath his wizarding robes and with the requisite dirk at his belt and small knife in his tall boots. His loud arrival had Peter and Edmund reaching for swords they no longer wore, but he soon proved himself quite friendly, bluff and unassuming, although there was a keen mind sparking behind those tawny brown eyes. 

While a pureblood, Aonghas was thankfully free of many of the prejudices of that class. He did warn them however that blood purity prejudice was rising, especially recently. There was a wizard in Europe as bad as Hitler, and the wizards were fighting their own war alongside the war that Mr. Pevensie was fighting in. Aonghas told them all he could, and Professor Kirke asked him to stay on a while, and asked if there were a way to tell if the Pevensies would actually be able to use his type of magic. 

To that, Aonghas simply offered Peter his wand. Even if it wouldn’t truly match the boy, there would be a reaction if Peter was a wizard. As soon as Peter’s fingers closed on the handle, the wand point lit with a great, golden light, and the four Pevensies all heard a familiar, if distant, roar. Peter had magic, and Aslan was here, in this world, as promised. 

Peter grinned, shifting his grip on the wand and offering it to Susan. She smiled sweetly and grasped the length of Rowan, and the scent of soft flowers and the laughing of Dryads filled the room. Still smiling sweetly, Susan offered the wand to Edmund. He swallowed, more nervous than the others, more fearful of magic, having known its evils more intimately. When he gripped the wand though, there was the feeling of warmth through them all that the Pevensies’ associated with the Lion’s Breath.

Edmund smiled at that benediction, turning to Lucy and offering her the wand in turn. She smiled up at him warmly, for her faith in both her brother and in Aslan never wavered, and took the wand. The scent of wood smoke and the haunting melody of the Fauns filled the room then, and Lucy’s smile broadened. She handed the wand back to Aonghus, who was staring between the four children in wonder. 

“Definitely witches an’ wizards,” Aonghus said somewhat incredulously. “An’ they never did receive Hogwarts letters?”

“No Aonghus,” Mrs Macready said, sticking to the tale they had fabricated. She knew of Narnia now, but also knew that such knowledge must be carefully guarded. There were too many who would only see such a place as a land to be conquered, or a source for exotic potions ingredients. “You know the school only takes so many muggle-borns though, and if they aren’t found by someone else to be tutored, they fall by the wayside. The Department of Muggle Affairs was understaffed even when we were children, I remember it being much complained of.”

“That is true,” Aonghus said with a sigh, then shook his head. “Tis a shame though. There is a nasty publication going about, they call it the _Sacred 28_ , a list of families that as of 1934, were still entirely pureblooded. There are more than 28 in truth, but a nastier piece of propaganda I’ve never seen. Feuds springing up left and right, and the old whispers about missing squib children get louder. It is the doing of this Grindelwald I’m certain, but no one can prove anything. And the Department of Muggle Affairs is but a broom closet any more, with a single old codger trying to keep it running on will alone.” He looked over the four Pevensies more shrewdly. 

“It would be worth seeing if the goblins can find a magical ancestor,” Aonghus mused. “Many theorize that there is really no such thing as a muggleborn. One or the other of your parents may be descended from a line that sprung from a squib cast out from their magical family. The goblins keep a great book, a register of squibs in truth, and who they belong to. If there is magical blood within the last twelve generations, it can be discovered and claimed. 

“Well, it can be discovered and claimed regardless, but if you are more than the thirteenth generation removed, any lands and titles will have been absorbed back to the crown, and as we have not had a truly magical monarch since the time of Merlin the Tenth, those lands and titles may never be awarded again, although the family name at least might be renewed if it is your wish.”

“Merlin?” Edmund asked wondrously, and Aonghus launched into an abbreviated history of Magical Britain and the Wizard Kings who had once ruled alongside the mundane Monarchs, before the rise of the Ministry in the 1200s. 

In the morning, very early, they hitched the horses to the cart, and drove north and a bit west. There, for the first time, the Pevensies saw Hogsmeade, and on the rise above it, Hogwarts. Lucy immediately wanted to go exploring in the woods, while Susan’s imagination was captured by the robes shop. They poked and puttered around, and thankfully there was a small branch office of Gringotts that could change pounds for wizarding money. They bought books mostly, and sweets, and ate lunch at the Three Broomsticks, a merry if somewhat old fashioned public house. 

Three days after Aonghus arrived, two wizards from the Ministry showed up to connect the professor’s house to the floo network. They had determined that Professor Kirke qualified as a squib as well, feeling warm and tingly when he held a wand but getting no other reaction. But it meant he was permitted to know the secret of the magical world, and so as soon as they were connected by floo, Aonghus escorted them to Diagon Alley. 

It was quite incredible to the children, that they might go in the blink of an eye from the countryside to London. They were not alarmed by it, they had travelled through the back of a wardrobe into another world after all, but it was still somewhat disconcerting. The train ride out to the professor’s house had seemed interminable at the time. Now though, Aonghus hurried them to the bank, although the Pevensies insisted upon bowing slightly to the goblins as they passed, recognizing them as something like their old friends, Narnian Red Dwarfs.

“Ah,” the goblin said when they were shown into an office and had explained what needed to happen, and the goblin gave a wide, toothy smile. Peter raised his eyebrows impatiently, fighting the urge to drum his fingers. He knew the others were just as eager, although only Lucy openly showed it, nearly bouncing in her seat. “You are of a line that was thought lost four centuries past, it is lucky that you come. In a few generations, the lands and titles would default to the Merlin.” 

Peter fought the urge to leap over the desk and shake the goblin until he coughed up the information. Aonghus cleared his throat ostentatiously, and the goblin glanced over, a long, waiting look. Aonghus narrowed his eyes into a fairly formidable glare, which didn’t seem to affect the goblin in the least, and Peter forced himself to remain still. 

“The Peverell name has been dead in the male line since the year 1538,” the goblin said. “The last to bear it was a descendant of Ignotus, the youngest of the three famous Peverell brothers. His daughter, Hildegard, married into the Potter family. The second brother, Cadmus, had only daughters. His only extant descendants are the Gaunt family, which is not expected to survive much longer,” the goblin sneered. “You are descended, by the left hand, from the eldest brother, Antioch Peverell.”

“The descent is acknowledged despite the illegitimacy?” Peter asked, a little surprised as he took the offered parchment at read it over. 

“Legitimacy was determined after the death of Antioch, as his son was born out of wedlock after his death,” the goblin clarified, pointing at the relevant dates, back in the 700s. “The boy was his in blood, and magical. In that time, it was enough to legitimize him. The name died out in that line a few generations later, and the magic some time after that. The last descendant of Antioch acknowledged by Gringotts in blood and magic was Illyria Lestrange. Her daughter, Justine Burke, married a muggle, and the magic of the line was dormant until now.”

“We will need a list of the lands and titles, and an inventory of the vaults and their holdings,” Susan requested, ever efficient. “We have been out of the country until recently, and I’m sure there is much to be done. Mr. Urquhart mentioned that the age of majority for British wizards and witches is 17?” the goblin nodded, and Susan gave Peter a speaking look. While they did not want to abandon their parents, neither could they tell them the truth. And they needed to train their magic.

“I will need to be emancipated, despite not yet being of age,” Peter said firmly, and the goblin scrawled something on his parchment. 

“You will also need these,” the goblin said, and presented a pair of rings. Peter took the Head of Family ring. He would need to find a decent jeweler and have a copy made of his Regnal ring as well. He handed the box to Ed, who silently slipped the Heir’s ring onto his finger. If Peter had sons, the Heirship would pass to them, which would make Ed quite happy. The girls would need rings too.

By the end of a rather exhausting day, the four Pevensies were outfitted as stylish young purebloods, and each had purchased a wand and a magnificent falcon. All four had wands with phoenix feather cores, the wands siblings like their owners, although the outer woods differed. Peter’s wand was long and a bit stiff, golden unbending oak. None of them were terribly surprised at that. Susan’s was fragrant apple, delicately carved. A wand of hazel chose Ed, naming him wise. Lucy, last but not least, took a wand of pale ash.

They bought books and trunks, parchment and quills as well, and each soon had a heavy gold ring on their finger. The goblin at the jeweler's shop had informed them that no family extant used the device of the lion rampant, and moreover they were entitled to it, as it was rightly the device of Gryffindor, whose descent they could also claim, although they were not the main line, that passing through the blood of their distant cousins the Potters. So they chose a lion rampant, crowned, and then each of them personalised from there. Peter’s sigil added a sword, Susan’s a brace of arrows, Edmund’s a pair of scales, and Lucy’s a wreath of laurel, as there was no good way to make a decipherable bottle of cordial that small.

The next morning a Gringotts owl arrived with their paperwork, and Susan started combing through their properties. The ancient family keep was held now by the Potters, although they did pay a nominal tithe to Gringotts, as the bank had administered the trust for Antioch’s line. There was a ‘hunting lodge’ on the outskirts of Hogsmeade though, and as they had learned that the ‘Forbidden’ forest there was home to centaurs and unicorns, they decided that if it was habitable, there they would make their home.

Due to the constraints of their ages, and the work necessary to get their affairs in order, Susan and Peter had determined they would hire tutors to get their education. Edmund would need tutoring as well, but it would not be too unusual for him to enroll late at Hogwarts. According to Aonghus, many purebloods and even halfbloods home schooled their children. In times like this though, the safety of Hogwarts was often sought. It would draw no comment if he said he had been previously homeschooled, but had been sent off to Hogwarts because of the deepening war. 

Aonghus helped them interview tutors before the end of the week, and they soon hired the pureblooded but impoverished Peredur Prince. His wife Cosmia and infant daughter Eileen came with, and Eileen was soon being doted on by Susan and Lucy. Most of what Peredur taught them at first was history and theory, and the other magics less dependant on wands. He was a gifted potions brewer, but not truly inspired, not a Master of the art.

A few letters back and forth to their mother convinced her that it would be safest for them to remain in the country with the professor, and that he would see to their schooling. So they had a year or so’s grace, although Ed had far less time. They wrote him an application for Hogwarts, which would start up in September, and as soon as Peter and Susan could safely apparate, they went together up to Hogsmeade, and with a map began searching for the house they wished to inhabit. 

It took three trips, the third with Edmund and Lucy in tow, and it was Lucy that spotted the overgrown gates in the wood. The forest had grown up around the old house in the many years since its last habitation, but once she pointed it out, they gathered at the vine choked gates and stared in. The lawn was a wood now, but down the long track they could see the green garbed grey of ivy cloaked stone. The Peverell ring on Peter’s finger opened the gates, and with weapons at the ready the four siblings started down the overgrown trail. 

Dappled sunlight played over them as they walked, and Susan gasped softly in wonder. Around the house was a golden clearing, more wildflowers than grass. The lower story of the house was neatly dressed stone, the upper levels the white daub and dark beams of the Tudor era, heavy with oriel windows, and with a grey-gold thatched roof over top. The thatching was quite old, and there were flowers growing up in it, and a few fearless red deer grazing on it. But otherwise the house looked to be in quite good repair. 

“Go on,” Susan said, smiling at Peter, and he smiled back at her, reaching out and placing his hand on the doorknob. The door swung open, and a series of soft pops sounded the arrival of the staff.

“Young Masters and Misses are home!” one of the little creatures cried excitedly, and dipped a hurried bow. “Young Masters, I is Socky, Head Downstairs Elf!”

“Socky, I’m Lord Peter Michael Pevensie Peverell, High King Peter the Magnificent, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, I should like you, and all the elves here, to call me Peter, or Master Peverell if you must. Can you call the rest of the elves that belong to this house, and these other properties, to me,” Peter requested, holding his hand back to Susan, and then passing the list she gave him to Socky. The elf bowed deeply, impressed by the many titles even if he didn’t know the places named, and popped off. There were soon a multitude of other pops, and the hall filled with elves.

“Goodness,” Susan said softly.

“You could say that again,” Edmund murmured, looking over the sea of anxious upturned faces. 

“Loyal elves,” Peter said warmly, straightening his already regal carriage. “As I have told those gathered here I am Lord Peter Michael Pevensie Peverell, High King Peter the Magnificent, Lionheart, Wolfsbane, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion. I wish to be called Peter, or Master Peverell if you must. 

“These are my siblings, Lady Susan Harper Pevensie Peverell, Queen Susan the Gentle, Hornsounder, Farshooter, Lady of the Lion; Lord Edmund Harold Pevensie Peverell, King Edmund the Just, Silvertongue, Winters-end, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, and Knight of the Noble Order of the Table; and finally Lady Lucinda Elaine Pevensie Peverell, Queen Lucy the Valiant, Heartsease, Fidelia, Lady of the Table. They shall be addressed as Miss Peverell, Master Edmund, and Miss Lucy in turn. Only our Peverell titles may be acknowledged. The others are to be kept secret at all costs.”

“We shall need this house prepared for habitation, we mean to move in within the week,” Susan said, taking over. “Rooms for each of us shall be prepared, and, in a separate wing, rooms for our learned advisor, our lady in waiting, our tutor, the tutor’s wife, and their young daughter. Once this house is fully ready, the other houses must also be brought to readiness and maintained. As you most likely know, there is a great war, and we must have as many houses ready as possible, in case we must move quickly. Each of the gentlemen shall need a valet, and Miss Lucy and I shall need ladies maids. A valet shall also be needed for our guardian, and one for our tutor, a ladies maid each for our chatelaine and the tutor’s wife, a nanny for the girl, and a household elf for their suite. As you know your skills and strengths better than we, these positions shall be filled at your discretion.”

The rest of the day was spent exploring the house and making requests of the elves. They returned to the professor’s house for tea though, and told him and Mrs. Macready of their success, then invited them to come live in Scotland. It was clear from the moment of asking that Mrs. Macready wished to come, but she was also bound by her contract to the professor. 

Thankfully, Professor Kirke was quite excited at the prospect of living in a magical house. So he put an advertisement for a housekeeper and groundskeeper in the local paper, Mrs. Macready giving out that she was returning to her family in Scotland, while the professor was off to visit a friend. Anything they wished to bring with them was sent off with the elves, although in truth the old house was so cluttered that it made little difference. The children ensured that the wardrobe would come with them, even if that way into Narnia was now closed.

They were soon moved, and Peter and Susan were back and forth frequently, making sure everything was set at the new house, which the inventories called Hunters’ Rest. Susan went through the inventories with great care, selecting the finest furnishings and decorations for the house. As a result, she also found a great number of other things, including a cache of weapons, that when she sent for them, appeared as divine as those that Father Christmas had gifted them in Narnia.

With proper weapons returned to them, the Pevensies added combat training to their other lessons. Susan also interrogated Cosima Prince as to societal expectations, and soon hired them a dancing master. While etiquette was covered quite thoroughly between Madam Prince and Mrs. Macready, Susan remembered well how much might hinge on something as seemingly simple as a turn about the dance floor. Moreover, it would help make them light on their feet, which was always good in a fight.

Peter, when not in his many lessons, began exploring in the forests, and befriended some of the owners of the other outlying houses. He also set the elves to readying the grounds, stables and other outbuildings. All four of them loved riding, and Lucy had begun pestering for a winged horse as soon as she learned of their existence. Peter didn’t mind, Granians and Aethonans were both quite lovely creatures from what he could learn from a book. He wished though, that unicorns here were like those in Narnia, for he quite missed his friend Diamond. With all their lessons and tasks, the time passed quickly. 

On the last day of July, there was a letter from Hogwarts though, accepting Ed, as Edmund Peverell, to the school. He would have to take placement tests to ensure that he was up to speed, but Peredur was certain his student would do well. Wanting to give their business to their local shops, and not wanting to deal with the crush down in Diagon Alley, the Pevensies walked into Hogsmeade to pick up the remainder of Edmund’s school things. 

Edmund walked up to Hogwarts a week before term started, and was met at the gate by the Deputy Headmaster, Head of House for Gryffindor, and Transfigurations Professor, Albus Dumbledore. With his extra lifetime of knowledge, and extensive experience in court intrigues, Edmund immediately knew he was being weighed and measured. It was not a comfortable experience, but he kept up his regal mask regardless.

"Well Mr. Peverell, I admit I'm quite surprised to meet anyone by that name," the professor said. He was jovial in tone and appearance, but that twinkle in his eyes wasn't true pleasure. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, the Deputy Headmaster, Head of House for Gryffindor, and Transfigurations Professor here at Hogwarts." Edmund deftly turned aside a mental probe, allowing his face to fall into the petulant expression he had so often worn the first time he was twelve. If the old man thought a string of titles was going to impress a King of Narnia, he had another think coming.

"I don't know why you should be surprised," Edmund said innocuously. "I know we've been out of the country a spell, but it hasn't been _that_ long." A consummate actor from his days at court and as a diplomat, Edmund injected just the right amounts of pride and scorn in his word, angled his head to show just the right amount of pure blood disdain.

"Ah, and how were your travels?" Dumbledore asked, peering over the top of his half moon glasses. His mind again slipped off Edmund's defenses without catching. The old man would have to try harder if he wanted to test someone who had faced the White Witch.

"Educational," Edmund returned noncommittally, and he swore he could hear Dumbledore's teeth grind.

"Very good," Dumbledore said somewhat tensely, and led Edmund into the castle. "Please, sit. I'll be proctoring your exams for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions and History of Magic. Tomorrow, Professor Slughorn will proctor for Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology. You will have one hour to write each exam. Once you've completed the theoretical portions, we will complete the practicals," he outlined. 

Edmund simply nodded, producing his writing set; a pair of fresh, sharp ravens feather quills, brass pounce pot, mother of pearl handled quill knife, and a bottle of plain black ink. Three hours later, he had submitted three carefully crafted essays. He was actually probably above grade level already, being in quite good control of his magic and having become quite efficient at researching. It was just lunch when he finished, and he gladly walked back to Hunters’ Rest to eat with his brother and sisters and tell them about the tests. He spent the afternoon revising for the following day, then playing a bit of cricket in the yard with the others.

They ate a lovely picnic dinner on the back lawn, and then gathered up deadfall for a bonfire. Lucy took out the flute she had from Tumnus, and they sang along to Narnian songs deep into the night. The moon was full and ripe overhead when Lucy played the haunting Fauns Lullaby, and they slept there in the grass, their Narnian magic beginning to thread through the forest closest to the house. Dawn woke the four monarchs, and they rose feeling lighter and more refreshed than they had since leaving Narnia.

Edmund once more put on the robes and attitude of a well off young pureblood, and took himself back up to Hogwarts. Again Dumbledore met him at the gates, but today he was handed off to an effusive man with a massive walrus like mustache. He introduced himself as Horace Slughorn, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin. He was quite jovial, and unlike Dumbledore the day before, his geniality rang true, if somewhat covetous. Edmund felt much less like an insect on the point of a pin that day.

Again Edmund made it home in time for lunch, and with the others and the Princes they discussed whether or not he should allow Dumbledore to see just how capable he was during the practical portion of the exams the following day. Edmund’s natural instinct was caution, and so was Susan’s. Peter was always in favor of letting their skill shine, but he didn’t press for that here, knowing that it would be best if they were underestimated. They were all in accordance. Edmund should show skill slightly beyond grade level, but not much, reserving his true skill and power for when it might be more necessary. 

On the first day of school, the entire family, plus the Princes, Professor Kirke and Mrs. Macready walked Edmund to the school gates as the afternoon light faded. He belongings waited in the entry hall of Hunters’ Rest for him to be Sorted, and then he would call for an elf. Although they had debated a bit about Houses, Edmund was fairly sure where he would be. He was a natural fit for Slytherin, and he knew also that if he did end up there, Slughorn would be doing his level best to suck up to a scion of an ancient, wealthy, and previously thought extinct lineage. 

All four of them were also natural Gryffindors of course, given their Aslan inspired bravery. In truth, Edmund was pretty sure there were aspects of all four houses in each Pevensie. But he was fairly certain he would sort to Slytherin given his experiences, and he was more than fine with that. After all, without ambition they would never have overthrown the White Witch, and without cunning their rule would have been short and bloody. Guile had more than once saved them.

Given the current state of British wizarding politics, they knew that being in Slytherin might cast suspicion on Edmund. But they were also sure that in a few years when Lucy arrived, she’d surely go to either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Peter could only ever have been Gryffindor if he had the chance to be sorted, and anyone meeting him would be able to tell that straight off. Susan was more of an enigma, but they figured she would go to Ravenclaw or Slytherin if she had been given the chance.

Predicting Susan and Peter’s houses was pointless of course, they would never attend Hogwarts. But Peter’s innately Gryffindor nature would point one direction, while Edmund’s probable sorting would point another, and neither of them minded that. Both boys knew they worked best in a pincer attack, Peter the gleaming hammer and Edmund the implacable anvil that no one noticed until it was far too late. And between them, they were certain, they would get the magical world sorted, and figure out why Aslan had sent them back to England with magic.

They had all discovered that their own particular brand of Narnian magic was spreading from the house into the forest. Lucy was doing it purposefully now, spending long hours under the eaves of the forest with her flute, playing the songs the Fauns had taught her. She was certain she could feel the distant wakefulness in the trees, they had just been sleeping so very long. 

Lucy piped a rousing jig as Edmund walked up the long drive alone, the rest of them remaining outside the Hogwarts gates and waving him on. At the steps, Edmund stopped and turned, and raised his right hand into the air. _Aslan_ , the wind whispered in all their ears, and the other Pevensies echoed his salute.

“Mr. Peverell,” came a familiar and already unwelcome voice.

“Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore,” Edmund returned gravely.

“I was surprised to learn you were not on the train,” Dumbledore said in mild castigation.

“Oh, it seemed the waste of a day that might be better spent with my family,” Edmund said carelessly. “We live very close by, so it seemed impractical to go down to London and risk the Blitz just to take a long train ride back to where I’d started from,” he informed Dumbledore, a few more breadcrumbs. In his pocket, he had the Hogsmeade permission slip, which would allow him to see the others every Liberty weekend. 

Between the four of them, he was certain they could figure out what they needed to do, and how best to go about it. He was their advance reconnaissance scout for Hogwarts, Peter in the government, and Susan in society. They had already learned that pureblood Heiresses entered the marriage market at about 16, but there was a demi-monde of not yet ‘out’ girls that Susan’s placid beauty and deft gentility would soon win over. 

“You’ll wait here and enter with the first years to be sorted,” Dumbledore informed Edmund, jerking him from his thoughts.

“Yes sir,” Edmund responded almost by instinct. While he might be out of practice at showing respect to adults, he did remember what boarding school was like. Especially at first, he would have to keep his head down and see where the power centers were. There was war coming, and Edmund would be hard pressed to stay on the right side of it if he was Sorted to Slytherin, and moreover to see if he could keep some of the other Slytherins on the side of what was right as well.

Edmund waited quietly, listening as the Great Hall filled on the other side of the wall. The murmurings of the students were somewhat hushed, and it was a sound Edmund knew well although he had largely forgotten it. But it was the sound of a world at war. Aslan had gifted them magic at just the right time. A quieter, tenser, murmuring soon sounded behind Edmund, and he turned slightly to watch the first years come in under Dumbledore’s direction.

When the time came, Edmund let the younger children pass him by before following them into the hall, certain he would be sorted last. The Headmaster, Dippet, was a frail looking fellow, hunched in his plain chair at the center of the head table. Edmund was fairly certain he was all but dead, it was only a matter of time before anyone else noticed. The other professors varied in age, but Slughorn was one of the younger ones, chatting jovially with a rather stern looking witch at his side, who looked like she would rather hex his mouth shut than listen to another word.

Finally though, after a long song encouraging unity, the Sorting began. One by one students were assigned their houses but what appeared to be a semi sentient hat. Edmund watched with apparent disinterest, holding his mask close. He had perfected this mask long years before, and even if the hall were to suddenly burst into flame, he would react with calm precision. 

“Now, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have one student remaining to be sorted,” Dumbledore finally announced, an impression of a friendliness that Edmund didn’t buy for a second. “This student has recently returned from overseas, and will be joining the second years. I trust his new house will welcome him warmly. Peverell, Edmund,” he announced. Edmund sauntered up to the stool and turned, looking regally over the whispering hall like a king surveying a battlefield. He let a tiny smirk curl his lips, then sat gracefully.

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat declared after but a moment on Edmund’s head, and Edmond stood and carelessly tossed the headgear back at Dumbledore, then ambled over to the table hung with silver and green. Up a bit from where the new firsties had sat, a place opened up next to a handsome but somewhat tattily dressed boy who looked not terribly unlike Edmund himself. His hair was not quite as dark as Edmund’s, and a bit wavier, and his eyes were a clear, pale blue rather than the deep brown of Edmund’s.

Edmund nodded to the others around him, listening as the Headmaster made a few remarks. Nothing of note really, and soon they were filling their plates. Edmund ate carefully and began to converse, soon finding that he had been seated near the top of the second years, and that the boy with the shabby robes was one of the lesser thought of third years. His pale eyes were calculating, but so were the eyes of everyone in Slytherin. So Edmund listened more than he spoke, and set the names of his year mates to memory.

“Ferny,” Edmund called clearly when they arrived at the dormitory some time later, and his elf popped into view with his trunk. “Very good, you may go,” Edmund directed, knowing the other boys would have seen and noted the crest on the elf’s livery. He had intended it so, knowing that they would all be writing home asking their parents if he was worth befriending anyway. Tapping his wand to his trunk, he unlocked and opened it, then directed a few things to the night table and his clothes to his armoire, then closed and locked the trunk back up, and set a few anti-theft and other privacy spells about.

“Wicked,” one of the other boys declared. Lestrange, Edmund thought, and Edmund smirked. 

“I didn’t know you could bring your own elves to school,” complained a pointy faced blonde, Malfoy. 

“I doubt you regularly can, but our hunting cottage is nearby,” Edmund said negligently, waving his hand as if to indicate that was something everyone ought to already know. 

“You enjoy riding to hounds then?” Malfoy asked, a light Edmund didn’t quite like in his eyes. A boy who had the idea he might like bloodsport then. Edmund would soon cure him of it. He knew that some wizards, especially those with a family tendency to Slytherin, thought muggle hunting ought to be a sport, never mind foxes. The idea of riding down any animal, even a dumb or lapsed beast, was horrifying to Edmund. Doing so to a Talking Beast or another human was reprehensible. 

“It’s not terribly challenging, chasing a dumb beast about,” Edmund said with a careless shrug. “I do enjoy riding, but I’d rather a straight steeplechase against one of my siblings.”

“Oh, how old are they?” asked a thickset brunette. Rosier, Edmund thought.

“Peter’s 16, Susanna’s 14, and Lucinda’s 8,” Edmund gave them, as there was no point hoarding that type of information. “Susanna’s the best rider of us, she’ll probably be competing this year if the bloody muggle war doesn’t ruin all our fun.” The others chuckled at that.

“Why isn’t she at Hogwarts?” Abraxas asked, the nosy sod. 

“Oh, we were all home schooled, but with the evacuations, we figured it would be safest for me at Hogwarts. Peter’s got the Lordship to deal with now though, and Su’s too set in her routines to follow someone else’s schedule, and besides, this place doesn’t teach half the things they would want to learn,” Edmund said, his tone implying such must be obvious. 

He’d let the others draw their own conclusions as they wished about what his siblings might wish to learn that Hogwarts didn’t offer. In truth, it was things like wizarding culture, politics, music and art that would most interest Susan, but they would assume it was Dark Arts. The other boys nodded, obviously tucking his words away to be turned over later and reported on. It was too easy for a practiced intriguer like Edmund, and he bit back a smirk.

By the end of the first week, Edmund was the undisputed king of his year. By the end of the second week, he was the reigning political power below fifth year. Fifth through seventh years tended to cluster together, as in fifth year students started gaining Prefectural authority. The best find of the lot, although Edmund knew the political worth of the other young Heirs, was Tom Riddle, the tatty third year he had sat beside at the Welcoming Feast.

Riddle was inordinately clever, and Edmund saw far too much of his own self pre-Wardrobe in the older boy. Riddle knew his own intelligence, and his own magical strength. He was used to getting his way, and at first was an absolute snot to Edmund. But as powerfully magical as he might be, Riddle was nothing on the White Witch, and Edmund was a King in his own right. 

By the time Halloween rolled around, Edmund had secured Riddle’s friendship and loyalty, and the animosity of Professor Dumbledore, who seemed to be anticipating bad things from Riddle as well. For Christmas holiday, Edmund got permission from their Head of House, and led Tom down to the gates. There Professor Kirke met them with a beautiful sledge pulled by a four stamping Clydesdales, Mrs. Macready up at his side and both of them swaddled in warm blankets. 

“Hello Silvertongue,” Kirke greeted warmly.

“Hello Professor, this is my friend Tom Riddle I’ve written about,” Edmund introduced. “Tom, this is Professor Kirke, he’s a friend of the family, and has looked after us for some time. Madam Macready, our chatelaine and another good friend to the family.”

“Young master,” Macready greeted deferentially, knowing a pureblood Heir when she saw one, no matter the state of his robes. She and Edmund exchanged a speaking look. Yes, they would definitely have to take Tom to the book. “You’ll forgive me young Master, but I’m not familiar with the Riddle name?” she asked, and Tom blushed heatedly. Edmund already knew that this, and his poverty, were what Tom was most ashamed of.

“I’m afraid I’m an orphan ma’am, and utterly unaware of my birth, except that my mother named me Tom Riddle after my father, and Marvolo after her own. I’m told her name was Merope,” Tom said stiffly.

“Oh!” Macready said quite surprisedly, covering her gaping mouth. “Forgive me Heir-Lord,” she practically whispered, bowing deeply at the waist.

“You know the family?” Edmund asked, for he had not thought to include information on Tom beyond that he was powerful, poor, and in desperate need of a good friend.

“Yes young master, I remember them well. Marvolo Gaunt was a cruel man, and his son Morfin not much better. They were awful to poor Merope they were, it was no surprise she disappeared,” Macready said, then offered a sad smile to Tom. “There is no kind way to put it child. Your mother is thought to have enchanted your father somehow. She ran off from the finishing school our kind are sent to, to learn useful skills.”

“Your - your kind?” Tom asked in soft horror. 

“Squibs child, or near enough, although she could do a little magic,” Macready said gently. “And your grandfather and uncle are not only no more powerful, but mad as hatters to boot. But they, and you, are the last of the proud House of Slytherin, aye, the Founder himself. You and the Masters and Misses will be cousins, however distant, as the Peverells are married into many of the old families. But you’ve obviously the strength of the old blood in you, and may the old gods bless it!” she finished.

“Well, I was going to suggest we test you on the Book, but evidently Madam Macready knows all,” Edmund said with a smile, then handed Tom up into the sledge. “Now budge over cousin!” Tom flushed at that, and in truth they flooed down to Gringotts to have Tom checked against the Book regardless. He was proven to be of the Slytherin line, and moreover, the inheritance was linked to both blood and magic. Neither his uncle nor his grandfather had been strong enough to inherit, and so, at thirteen, Tom Marvolo Riddle was named Heir Lord of Slytherin, with the guarantee of inheriting the Lordship via the recently passed War Acts when he turned 15. 

For the next few weeks, Tom was coddled and catered to like the pureblood Heir he had longed to be since first learning of such things. He also saw though, the example of Peter, the diligent and hardworking Lord Peverell, who was studious and brave and always striving to better the magical world. He had private tutors for his schooling, the poor but proud Princes, peers in their own rights, and advisors of all sorts, but Peter also made sure to spend time with his family every day, and warmly accepted Tom as his cousin.

The long denied part of Tom Riddle that was an affection starved little boy clung to the bluff forwardness of Peter, the beautiful serenity of Susanna, Edmund’s sly teasing and young Lucinda’s unwavering faith and goodness. Each Peverell was more wonderful than the last, and he found himself talking politics with Peter and Peredur Prince, target shooting with Susan, playing in the snow with Lucy, doting on little Eileen, and riding with Edmund. 

For Christmas there was a mountain of presents with Tom’s name on them, and a few days later, Peter, Peredur, Tom and Edmund went to Little Hangleton, where both sides of Tom’s family made their homes. The muggle Riddles lived in a manse on the hill, and were rude beyond belief when confronted with Tom. The Gaunts were even worse, and Tom was ashamed of the whole lot. 

“Well, it’s as well you’re Heir Lord Slytherin Tom,” Edmund said when they were once more in front of the roaring fire at Hunters’ Rest. “And while your muggle family are no great prize, I imagine it’s that blood that makes you so powerful.” Tom had looked over curiously at that, and from there they devolved into a long and somewhat disconcerting talk about inbreeding and the theoretical source of magic. 

“I intend to take NEWTs this spring, and begin training as a Hit Wizard,” Peter said as they drank perry on New Year’s Day. 

“Peter!” Susan said softly, her cutlery clattering against her plate with uncharacteristic clumsiness.

“You know I can’t stay out of a fight like this Su,” Peter said wryly. “There’s too much the Lion in me, and I can’t stay back. You and Edmund are more than capable of standing for the House if there’s need, and I fully intend to come back. Grindelwald is filth of the most vicious sort, hiding his bigotry behind The Greater Good. That kind is never actually about helping people. He’ll be wanting power, for himself and no one else. He wants to be Lord King of all he surveys, and may the Lion have mercy on whosoever stands in his way.”

“I know better than to argue when you’ve made your mind up Lionheart,” Edmund said wryly. “Even my words are no match for that.” He stood, raising his glass. The others rose as well, although the ladies, being well bred, didn’t raise glasses. Tom wasn’t sure what it was that Edmund said next, a toast of some variety, but it was in another language, that only the Peverells and perhaps Professor Kirke understood. Tom drank regardless, a bit in awe of Peter’s golden bravery.

The Peverells were all ferociously affectionate with one another after that. But they included Tom still, called him cousin and hugged him in the morning and all through the day, and sent him off to bed each night with chaste kisses. When term started up again Tom returned to Hogwarts a changed boy. He was dressed in fine new things, and Peter’s factor was working to get Tom’s guardianship passed to the young Lord Peverell.

Slytherin House rearranged itself accordingly as soon as they saw the Heir of Slytherin ring on Tom’s finger, and the richness of his new robes. Their insipid jockeying for position only made Tom more careful though. He had learned how to be a true and faithful friend in the Peverell house, and while he knew those were not traits that Slytherin was famous for, he would be forever grateful that he learned them. Now, he and Edmund set about using their serpent cunning though, discovering which of their acquaintances might become true friends.

By end of term, the co-lordship of the Heirs of Peverell and Slytherin over the younger years of Slytherin House was universally acknowledged. They called one another cousin with a warm, teasing smirk and kissed each other’s cheeks goodnight as they parted to their dorms each night. Each had made a true friend or two in their year group, but what went less acknowledged was the power they were accumulating even over the upper years. Never before had there been such a clear indication of things to come, but Tom and Edmund were obvious allies and clearly both meant for greatness.

Better even than their growing friendship though, was the news that came not long after Easter break. Peter had obtained guardianship of Tom. It wasn’t a true adoption, but it got Tom away from Wools and out of bombed out London. He had spent the break at Hunter’s Rest, learning to ride and shoot and handle a sword, skills that Peter and Edmund, and even their sisters, were all uncannily good at. They felt like true family, and he would be back there come summer.

In the meantime, Tom and Edmund were the rising stars of Slytherin. Academically they were the top students in their respective years, and they were gaining allies as well. Peter’s name was beginning to be known in the Wizengamot, his fairness and rousing manner of speech, his staunch devotion to his friends and his principles. He was rather the fair haired boy of the Ministry at the moment, for all that could change in an instant. But he befriended the older, nominally Dark families as easily as the younger families that called themselves Light wizards, and his power and brilliance was as a golden sun in a candelabra.

As he had proposed over Christmas, Peter took his NEWTs a year early that spring, and applied to the Ministry’s Auror training program. It was hard, nasty work, and with Edmund in school still, Susan voted the Peverell and Slytherin seats despite being just 15. She was a mature 15 though, and with the memories of another whole life as a warrior queen and belle of the court. So she charmed and played the games to start the magical world in Britain onto the path of Aslan.

For the next year, they all struggled in their ways. Edmund and Tom were constantly under the close and wary eye of Dumbledore, who seemed to expect them to run mad at any moment. Susan was being courted and trying to keep them on their chosen path with the government. Lucy supported them behind the scenes, and Peter blazed meteorically through training. He was one of the top recruits despite being younger than the others, and his physical training made him one of the most capable trainees. He completed the two year program with record scores in a single year, and while he might not be the best investigator, he was a warrior without equal.

That year Tom was a fourth year, and protected all of the younger students as he was able, even without prefectural authority. Edmund acted in the same capacity, and Slytherin was stronger than ever despite the mutterings from the rest of the school about how the Dark Lord was recruiting primarily from the house of the serpent. Both of them were favorites of their Head of House, and everyone expected that they would become Prefects when they reached the appropriate age. Edmond let slip carefully that his brother would be joining the war against Grindelwald and he heartily approved, giving the older, more bigoted Slytherins something to think on.

Within a month of his being posted to active duty, Peter Peverell’s photograph was splashed across the front page of the Prophet. ‘Wolfsbane’ they called him, for his decimation of a band of rogue werewolves acting as advance scouts for the Dark Lord, and Edmund laughed, and laughed, and laughed. But the name stuck, although the nickname of Lionheart was bandied about with some frequency as well. As Peter’s name grew more notorious through the summer, letters quietly arrived with each morning’s breakfast, letters from other Slytherins throwing their quiet support behind the linked names of Peverell and Riddle of Slytherin.

The summer session of the Wizengamot was a coup for Susan that year. She rarely proposed legislation herself, but if there was anyone who could match Edmund in back room dealing, it was his sophisticated older sister. She knew when and what to bargain, and quietly made clear that the Peverells were friends to the Wandless Ones, as sentient magical beings currently restricted from using wands called themselves. She also made known that while ‘Wolfsbane’ was all well and good on the battlefield, Lord Peverell and the rest of the family believed lycanthropy was a disease, and ought be treated as such.

At midsummer, Peter came home on a week of leave. Although they all wished more than anything that they could just spend that time relaxing, they knew that political matters, for the moment, had to take precedence. Since becoming Peverells the four monarchs had had the elves rotating through the various properties, bringing them up to the level. For midsummer, they threw a massive pagan gala at the ancient Peverell homestead in Castleton, Derbyshire.

Bonfires burned bright on the hilltops of the Peverell homeplace of Peak Castle that night, and in his youthful glory, Peter was brighter yet, all gold and glory, blue eyes flashing like chained lightning. Susan was hostess at his side, serene perfection in her grown up robes and a power in her own right despite not yet being ‘out’ in society. But they all knew her marriage contract would be highly sought by every pureblood house as soon as she was seen as eligible. Already there had been some hints at alliance from a number of houses.

Lucy, Tom and Edmund remained more behind the scenes, Tom playing at benevolent despot with the other children too young for the great ritual blessing. The other children were all quite pleased at that though, Lucy telling them stories deep into the night, and then bringing out her Narnian flute. The ancient Deep Magic of the fauns was heard that night, swelling and sweeping, dancing and waking the lands of England to the presence of Aslan.

“I dreamed a great lion,” Tom murmured when he woke at dawn, Edmund and Lucy and the other young children all piled together with him, curled in blankets.

“What did he tell you?” Lucy asked in that slightly strange way of hers. She was a bit of an odd duck, even for a witch, but she was also the kindest, openest person Tom had ever known, and he loved her fiercely.

“He - how do you know he told me anything?” Tom asked, and Ed sat up muzzily at his side with a snort. 

“The Great Lion does not appear save when he is needed,” Edmund said seriously, and Tom could hear the capitalized letters he used. 

“We call him Aslan,” Lucy said, in that storytelling voice of hers. “He is the son of the Emperor Over the Sea, who sang all of creation into being with the Deep Magic back at the beginning of worlds,” she explained. “He is the greatest and fiercest and kindest thing in all creation,” she said loyally. 

“And we four, we serve Him,” Edmund said, soft but firm, and again Tom heard capitals, and now he recalled the rings all four Peverell siblings wore, with their crowned and rearing lions. “He’s - well, have you ever been to church Tom?”

“The matron at the orphanage used to make us all go, yes,” Tom admitted, unsure as to the change in topic.

“Did you ever - ever feel that deep connection? That the Word was all true, and that the Son really was salvation?” Ed asked almost gently, but there was a flame in his dark eyes that Tom had never noted before.

“No, although, the first time I went to Yule vigil, I felt - connected,” Tom admitted. Edmund nodded at that, a thoughtful look on his face.

“I - I’ve thought about this a lot, since we first felt Aslan, and came to serve him,” Edmund said carefully. “I think the benevolent deities, they’re like avatars, and perhaps Aslan is too, it’s just that like the Christian God, he’s a singular avatar, rather than part of a pantheon,” Edmund explained. “We were raised Christian, before we found the Lion, and while he does not - he doesn’t demand or require worship, only faith and right action in his name, I think that in a way, he is the very best parts of what they tried to teach us in church.”

“That’s very - well, I don’t know what to say,” Tom admitted with a nervous laugh. “I - in the dream, he was terrifying but so very comforting at the same time, you know? This great big lion coming towards me, and I was petrified, but then he roared, and all my fear just - went away.”

“He does that,” Lucy said understandingly.

“I’m glad you’ve seen him cousin,” Edmund said, leaning over so their shoulders bumped. “Somehow, even when you don’t see him, knowing the Great Lion is walking the world makes doing the right thing monumentally easier.” Tom nodded. He felt lighter than he had before, as if he had been carrying a great burden on his shoulders, and seeing Aslan had allowed him to set it down.

Too soon it was the end of June, and the Hogwarts owls arrived with their supply lists. An additional envelope arrived for Tom, bearing the much hoped for honour of Slytherin Prefecture. As Tom, as Prefect, was required to ride the train, Ed flooed with him down to London with the Princes as their chaperones. The station was tense and businesslike, the muggle war casting its pall even there. They boarded the train quickly, and soon were on their way back north.

This year, having learned the lay of the land, and planned extensively with his cousin and siblings, Edmund would begin to act. The magical world, such as he understood it was hopelessly corrupt and desperately in need of some shaking up. The attitudes about those of less than ‘pure’ blood were atrocious, and the things people said about other than human magical sentients were even worse. 

Tom soon put his portion of their plan in action. In truth, parts of the plan were terribly easy, and this was one of them. He simply had to befriend the other prefects, and start lessening the animosities between the houses and taking points for prejudicial language. Tom thought the whole thing was rather genius. He had learned more about the magical world in one summer with the Peverells than in all his previous school years put together, a mean feat when one was as curious and driven as the young Heir of Slytherin. 

The female Slytherin prefect was Walburga Black, a haughty piece of work who was reportedly betrothed already to her cousin Orion, who wasn’t even at Hogwarts yet. In Gryffindor, their counterparts were Charlus Potter and Alethea Abbot. In Hufflepuff, Caradoc Diggory and Lisette Bones were the Prefects. Rounding out the new, fifth year Prefects were the Ravenclaws Aminah Shafiq and Quentin Shacklebolt. 

Tom, when he felt like it, could be just as charming as any of the Peverells, and his time with them made his charm less calculating than it had been previously. While he didn’t instantly become friends with any of the other Prefects, he was sure they could all get on well enough. That taken care of, and their duties outlined to them, they patrolled the train. They broke up a few arguments, and soon they were back at school.

Like the year previous, Tom and Edmund were the reigning powers inside Slytherin House. Now that Tom was a Prefect though, he consolidated his hold on the upper years. He did so subtly, and by Halloween he and Edmund were the unquestioned authorities in the dungeons. They were benevolent dictators though, and while Tom had always craved power, he was learning from Peter and Ed’s examples how best to wield it. 

Whenever Tom had a crisis, he would go to Edmund, and usually the solution was to sit quietly a moment, and think on the feelings that being with Aslan had roused. Everything seemed to make more sense when you kept Aslan present in a corner of your mind, Edmund said, and once Tom got in the habit, he found it was true. By thinking what that wise, kind presence had felt like, Tom could feel that cold, angry portion of himself slowly fading, unfurling beneath the warmth of Aslan’s love. 

As during the year before, Peter and Susan were often in the papers, Peter for his intrepid bravery and Susan for her deft politicking. She turned sixteen that autumn, and there was a massive ball to formally introduce her to society. Anyone who was anyone, and quite a few who just wanted to be someone, were there, bowing over Susan’s slim white hand. She was resplendent in her white silk and lace dress robes, a silver diadem on her brow. The pictures of her reminded Tom of the old fairy tale; lips as red as blood, hair as black as ebony, skin as white as snow.

With Susan now on the marriage market, she was actively sought by nearly every single wizard over the age of majority in Britain, plus a few under it and a number from the continent. Having played the part before though, Susan maneuvered the pressures of high society deftly. With Madam Macready at her side as chatelaine and chaperone, she was the belle of every ball she attended. She stepped out politely for every dance, conversed knowledgeably about the state of the world, and never purposefully raised any man’s hopes. 

By Christmas it was clear that Susan would make her own match, and that she would do so in her own time. Some of the suitors dropped from the running at that point, disgruntled at the thought that her supposedly massive dowry would not be available imminently. She was wooed and courted at every turn, but deftly turned aside those who were overly amorous.

All the Pevensie-Peverell’s were quite pleased for the term to end at Hogwarts. Peter had secured leave from the front, and he rejoined the family at Hunters’ Rest. This year, the house was opened for a grand party since Susan was out in society to play hostess. It was an absolute rout, the sort of party that was talked about for weeks afterwards and remembered for a lifetime. Susan, was, as ever, the most beautiful girl there. Every male eye was on her, and every female eye on Peter, who was as golden and resplendent as ever.

Many of Tom and Ed’s housemates came, and while their exposure was less, they quickly understood what Tom had on his first visit; Lord Peter Peverell was everything a young Lord should be, brave and kind and strong and noble, using his power and wealth to benefit not only himself and his family, but all of magekind. Noblesse Oblige at its ideal. At his side, Lady Susan was just as striking, and just as inspiring. Without having ever stepped foot on Hogwarts grounds, the eldest Peverells became the idols of every student who saw them. 

The ruling of Hogwarts became even easier for Tom and Ed after that. After all, while Slytherins, it was clear that neither was the sort of devious evil overlord that rumours usually painted influential members of their house as. With the two young Lords leading them, cunning dropped lower in the admirable attributes of Slytherin House, and ambition rose. By the time Tom and Ed’s fifth and fourth years respectively finished, they were without questions the student leaders at the school. 

With Ed and Tom’s letters that summer came Lucy’s, and Ed’s Prefecture. Before that though, Tom went back to Gringotts, and claimed the Lordship of House Slytherin. He was seated that summer session at the Wizengamot, despite being too young to wed or practice magic openly. He proved quickly to have a sharp mind and elegant manners though, as well as a nose for a deal. With him and Susan working together, they became a much feared partnership, and rumors began to circulate that they would make it a romantic match as well. 

The first time Tom heard the rumours about himself and Susan, he nearly choked on nothing. He thought of her as he thought of Ed, as a close cousin, almost a sibling. The second time he laughed. By then, the rumours had got round to Su and the other Peverells, and they found them just as amusing. He acted as her escort to political functions, but that was because they were family, not because he wanted to pursue her. While Tom was certainly old enough he had become interested in girls, Susan was in another category entirely. 

By the time Hogwarts started back up, Tom’s place in the Wizengamot was fairly established. While he had not yet authored any legislation himself, it was clear that he was a neutral traditionalist. He favored the education of muggleborns about wizarding traditions, culture and government, classes which were currently optional at Hogwarts, and which were rarely offered due to lack of interest. He was also in favor of compulsory testing of those entering the magical world against the Book of Lost Lines, although that would be a harder sell. The Ministry stood to gain after all, if those Lost Lines faded away into nothingness.

That year, for the first time since his own sorting, Ed paid attention to the hat. Lucy was sorted almost without pause into Gryffindor, no real surprise, although Ed confided in Tom that he had anticipated she might go to Hufflepuff. Ed, his new Prefect badge gleaming on his robes, vaulted up to stand on the bench, and applauded vigorously for his little sister. Lucy giggled and bobbed a handsome curtsey in response, earning her the amity of much of Slytherin in response. 

Despite being a firstie, Lucy contributed a great deal to Ed and Tom’s scheme’s at Hogwarts. She was quite good at politics herself, although no one suspected it of her. Her sorting to Gryffindor helped with that. She was warm and outgoing, made friends easily, and espoused the same political beliefs Tom and Ed did. Sure, her phrasing was a bit different, but the core of it was equality for all sentient magic users, respect for different cultural groups, honour for wizarding traditions, and seclusion from the muggle world, which was currently seeming to streak toward hell in a handbasket. 

Lucy was soon the leader in her own year group, with friends from all four houses. Dippit was clearly quite pleased by the amity in his school, although Dumbledore was just as clearly grouchy, especially when he noted Tom and Ed being their usual charming selves. Despite Dumbledore’s obvious displeasure regarding the popularity of the Peverells and Tom though, there was little he could do about it. He deducted points from Tom and Ed for next to nothing whenever possible, and watched them like a hawk, but most of the students simply found such behavior petty, and it markedly lowered their respect for Dumbledore.

The year passed quickly, with Ed in his OWL level classes and Tom in the more advanced courses. Tom also led a few in-house classes, as sixth and seventh year Slytherins tended to. Being one of the best in his year at both DADA and duelling, Tom led the study group for DADA, and also a group that studied theories of the balance of magic, since they couldn’t openly study the Dark Arts themselves. Ed led the OWL study groups, and Tom happily provided his cousin his notes, to great approbation.

While Tom, Ed and Lucy whiled away the days at Hogwarts, Peter was in the theatre of war, leading his small squadron across Europe. In his letters, he sent home posters he found once they were within enemy occupied areas, posters with his name and picture, naming him one of Grindelwald’s most sought enemies. Just before the fall term ended, Peter’s troop engaged Grindelwald in the Rhineland. It was a bloody, brutal fight, and meant that they had Peter home for Christmas as well as a prolonged convalescent leave.

By Easter term break though, Peter was champing at the bit. He had a bit of a limp still, and a long, ropy scar on his leg, a thinner, livid red scar along his hairline. But the one thing in Peter that could not, would not, change, was his drive to avenge the oppressed, stand up for the bullied. So Peter was back to the front, a cadre of reinforcements with him. The upper year boys at Hogwarts always asked after him, and it was many of their greatest dreams to serve with Peter and his ‘Lionhearts’ at the front, despite that their unit was one of the most constantly under heavy fire.

With Peter continually at the front, Susan remained in the Wizengamot, rallying the traditionalists around the Peverell banner with Tom as her second during the summer. When Hogwarts was in session and Tom couldn’t attend to his duties at the Wizengamot, Susan held his proxy, and voted in his stead. With the London social scene still largely cancelled due to the ongoing blackouts, Susan went to the balls, galas, and so forth in York and Edinburgh, Madam Macready as ever her chaperone, and Tom her escort when he was able.

In addition to their more businesslike endeavours over summer, there were also visits to and from friends made at school. One of the foremost of these for Lucy was one of her year and house mates, Minerva McGonagall, a halfblood whose family lived within riding distance of Hunters Rest. Minerva, or Min, as Lucy called her but few else were permitted, was a sharp little slip of a thing, with glossy black hair and sharp blue eyes. She spoke Norn and Gaelic as well as English, and her grandmother on her wizarding side remembered enough of the Kingdom of Dalriata to tell her bedtime tales, which were subsequently passed to the Peverells, although a little garbled in the translation. 

Despite that she was still a girl, not yet anything like a woman, Ed was quite taken with young Minerva McGonagall. And if Minerva were asked, she would likely blush and avoid speaking of either Edmund Peverell or Tom Riddle at all. Both, the young girl thought, were very handsome. Tom, who was sixteen and a half that summer, was almost fully a man. He was tall and lean, still a bit coltish yet, but graceful from his dancing and fencing lessons. His jaw was shadowed in the morning with stubble, and he had begun to fill out as well, his jaw squaring and shoulders broadening.

Ed, a year younger than Tom, was also showing the signs of manhood. Their voices had dropped some time ago, and their vocal coach ensured that they retained proper elocution as well as strong, tuneful singing voices. Many ancient spells were chanted, and the intonation could alter the meaning. Susan, older than Tom, was in the full bloom of young womanhood, sought from every corner.

When their Hogwarts letters came once more, Ed was unsurprised that he would be Prefect again in his sixth year. He was equally unsurprised when Tom’s envelope disgorged the golden Head Boy badge. The two boys exchanged smug smirks, and Lucy laughed at them delightedly. The test, Susan reminded them gently, was ensuring that they didn’t let their power go to their heads. She knew Edmund would handle it well, but despite the years he had been with them, there were still some doubts about Tom. After all, Head Boy was a great deal of power within the school.

Tom settled any questions quickly though. As Head Boy, he had an even easier time befriending the other houses than he had as Prefect. He used that to advantage, and as it was his NEWT year, no one was terribly surprised when he started inviting the best students from other houses to join the Slytherin study groups and extracurricular clubs. After all, a Slytherin would always want to do the best, and while Tom went about it in a manner unlike the stereotypes of Slytherins that Dumbledore encouraged, no one could argue his intelligence.

By Yule, Tom had applied for a position with the Hit Wizards. He planned to blow Peter’s training records out of the water. He and Ed trained physically, magically, and mentally at every possible time, and Ed was as much a dangerous wizard as his lauded older brother, if not more so. Tom graduated with the highest Hogwarts could bestow, and the next week joined a cadre of his classmates in the training academy. He outpaced them quickly, and by the end of summer was seconded to the front, to finish his training in the field. Officially, Germany was surrendered, but Grindelwald and his forces were still holding on, not acknowledging the armistice. The ICW, to whom Tom and the other Hit Wizards fighting Grindelwald reported, wanted this over, fast.

It was a comfort to Tom, being in Peter’s command. While he didn’t know his eldest cousin as well as the others, they got on well, understood one another. And there were few other than Peter who could best Tom physically. Magically, Tom was in another class altogether, able to out duel Peter and his top three lieutenants. Not that Peter wasn’t a strong or able wizard. But he wasn’t as creative as Tom, and tended to fall into patterns when duelling. Their one on one training matches soon became the entire unit’s favorite entertainment, and their friendlies improved both of them. 

So it was that Peter and Tom and the Lionhearts were among the units that assaulted Nuremgard when intelligence passed down that Grindelwald himself was there. The attack and siege went back and forth for months, the rainy autumn and its cold mud giving way to an equally rainy, unpleasant winter. They took the outer wall the week before Samhain, and Tom was tasked with assisting the warders. His incredible magical strength was a godsend for them, and he could hold their anti-escape wards against multiple attackers from within the fortress.

Peter led the assault, and when they finally breached the inner keep, he and the Lionhearts set about freeing the prisoners from the long thought unimpregnable dungeons. The warders redoubled their efforts, waging a magical battle to keep their infamous quarry from escaping while Grindelwald’s forces battered them in turn. Tom was constantly learning, constantly adapting, and his greatest invention, he felt, was his discovery that certain types of wards, when layered, became adaptable.

Tom taught the other warders the trick of it, and soon they were layering wards deftly, weaving in cantrips and other traps. With fewer warders needed to hold the perimeter, Tom was sent up into the forward assault, breaking the wards of the German wizards and rescuing their captives. The damage soon began to pile up, and so it was that on Yule Eve, Grindelwald sent a message. He would face their champion in single combat. The winner would hold Nuremgard. The loser would surrender his wand. 

Peter and Tom argued heatedly that night. They duelled repeatedly for the honour of facing the enemy in single combat. Each time it was a draw though. Finally, they flipped a coin. Tails, and Tom would face Grindelwald at sundown, the day after Yule. Word spread like wildfire. By the time the duel was to be fought, wizards and witches had come from throughout the surrounding area to witness what was sure to be an historical duel. 

At one end of the long courtyard, Tom waited. The others had all given up their best bits of duelling gear, and while he slept, cobbled together a truly impressive set of battle robes. They were the deep crimson of the British Aurory, and Peter had carefully worked a golden lion on the breast. Tom had touched the symbol and met his cousin’s eyes, and then simply nodded, mentally calling upon Aslan in all his strength and wisdom to fight honorably and well. 

The light faded slowly, flaring as it touched the upper battlements. And then the courtyard was all in shadow, and Grindelwald stood at the other end, pale and handsome and mad as a hatter, arrayed in deep blue battle robes with the symbol of the mythical Hallows on the chest in deep red. They bowed shallowly, neither removing their eyes from the other, and then the battle was joined. 

Later, the witnesses would remark that the duel between the aging Grindelwald and young Tom Riddle was the most magnificent, and terrifying, thing they had ever seen. Very few could follow the rapid spellcasting, and the spells themselves were set in silence. Some of the spells could be identified by the color of the light they emitted, others by their destructiveness when they hit, although very few landed on either caster. 

Deep into the night they duelled, spell light flashing. The well warded stone walls of the courtyard began to crumble under the onslaught sometime after midnight. Both duellists were visibly tiring by then, sundown having come early at this time of year. It became a matter of strength and endurance both. In the end though, it was conditioning and luck that won. Tom was younger and in better shape, and when Grindelwald staggered and stumbled, Tom saw and responded with the only mercy of which an enraged cobra is capable. He went for the jugular. 

Such it came to pass that in 1945, three days before Christmas, the Lionhearts held Nuremgard, and the Prophet printed in six inch letters, Dark Lord Grindelwald Defeated by ‘Lionheart’ Lord Slytherin. On Tom’s birthday a week later, he received the Order of Merlin First Class from His Majesty. Susan, always aware of a good publicity opportunity, had in advance seen to it that the ancient seat of the Lord Slytherin, Mere Haven, was clean and decorated, and organized a ball for his birthday and as congratulations.

As always when Susan was involved, it was the event of the season. Peter and Tom were in their dress uniforms; red dragonhide trousers and waistcoats, gold edged red robes, and yards of braided gold cords. The only differences were in rank, and the golden collar and blue ribbon of Tom’s Order of Merlin. The two young battle tested Lords were the toasts of the ball, and Susan the admitted belle. All the young, and not so young, ladies sought to catch Peter and Tom’s eyes, while Susan’s dance card was overflowing.

The celebrations lasted for some weeks into 1946, but Peter and Tom weren’t in England for all of them. They might have put Grindelwald in his grave, but there was still a lot of cleaning up to do. So the Lionhearts were sent back to Europe, and back tracked Grindelwald, subduing his followers, freeing his captives, and unmaking the terrifying magics he had enacted. Tom, with his exhaustive knowledge of rarely used magics, was invaluable in the enterprise, and by the time the Lionhearts returned to England to much acclaim, no one was at all distressed by Tom’s open and frequent use of spells that had long been classified ‘Dark’.

During the winter that Tom and Peter were cleaning up the magic that had run rampant through Europe, Ed was Head Boy at Hogwarts. He had an apprenticeship lined up that would split his time between the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and clerking in the Wizengamot, where he had over the summer acted as Peter and Tom’s proxy, allowing Susan to shift full time into the social scene. He had done well for himself and the traditionalist faction that the Peverells and Tom spearheaded, and re-earned his own nickname, Lord Silvertongue. Some things, it seemed, were fated.

Lucy and Minerva did well for themselves as well, easily befriending students in all the houses and carrying forward the work of Aslan, as Lucy was wont to phrase it. Minerva didn’t yet know the Great Lion, but Lucy trusted her friend a great deal, and knew that when push came to shove, Minerva almost always made the right decision. The Scottish girl needed to learn how to have a bit more fun at times, but her seriousness countered Lucy’s light heartedness well, and their strengths likewise balanced out. 

With midsummer came the return and disbanding of the Lionhearts. Most of the men became Aurors, Peter included, allowing Edmund to continue on in the Wizengamot on the Peverells behalf. Tom though returned to his own seat, and he and Edmund happily reunited in the halls of government. The Wizengamot crumbled to their wishes as easily as Slytherin House once had, and with the backing of the other traditionalists, they began carefully remaking the wizarding world. 

Many of their proposed legislation could be seen as proactive measures to prevent the rise of a British Grindelwald, or actions in response to Grindelwald and the war he had waged. As a soldier who had fought against Grindelwald, and seen the terror he sowed through the countryside of Europe, Tom could give quite the eloquent monologue on the dangers posed by the weakening of the Statute of Secrecy, the loss of muggleborns back into the muggle world, and the inbreeding of pureblood lines. If they were not careful, they would be discovered, and they would not have the strength to fight back, Tom warned. 

Tom was seated in not only the Wizengamot though, but now that he was no longer a student, he was seated on the Hogwarts Board of Governors as a Founder’s Heir. There, he proposed action almost from the start, not bothering with subtle politicking. The elder members of the Board were a bit surprised, at least until they heard his reasoning. He had arrived at Hogwarts ignorant after all, and most of his answers, he had either found for himself or learned from Edmund. Those first couple years before Edmund arrived though, had been miserable, and his constant thought had been revenge against those who had hurt and belittled him.

Despite being the youngest member, Tom was soon voted the Chairman of the Board of Governors. That title, along with the hereditary title of Lord Slytherin, gave him a great deal of power within the school, and the ability to enact a great number of the changes he sought. First were teaching requirements. While most of his professors had been excellent, there were also quite a few duds, and the requirement of teaching certification and subject Mastery would hopefully prevent that. 

Tom’s social and political obligations filled enough time that holding down a job on top of that was an impossibility. It was a good thing the Slytherin vaults had been so well invested, and so long untouched. He had money to burn, and was happy to spend it on worthwhile causes, funding scholarships and research. He also conducted research independently, and soon found an eager correspondent in the noted French Alchemist, Nicolas Flamel.

**Author's Note:**

> reformatted from a chapter in a multifandom fic to standalone. If you commented on the previous fic, thank you, I appreciate it even though the comments have been deleted.


End file.
